


The Call of the White Wolf

by Andresome04



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Romance, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Buckle Up My Friends, Domestic, Drama, Fantasy, Fluff, Healers, Hunters & Hunting, I'll post a proper summary later, Inspired by The Witcher, M/M, Magic, Magic-Users, Mentions of other ships, Monsters, Murder Mystery, Mutant Powers, Mutants, Mystery, Romance, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Violence, Witcher AU, head the tags please, mentions of interfacing, oh all the feels, slight gore, we're in for a bumpy ride
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:48:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26667709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andresome04/pseuds/Andresome04
Summary: A terrorized city?  Missing people? A monster on the lose? What do you do?Toss a coin to your Witcher of course!
Relationships: Brainstorm/Perceptor (Transformers), Drift | Deadlock/Ratchet, Rodimus | Rodimus Prime/Ultra Magnus
Comments: 11
Kudos: 55





	The Call of the White Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> Woooweee. This was a monster to write but I am mostly satisfied with this. In case you were wondering, yes, this is the reason why I haven't been participating in Dratchet Party. This idea has been bouncing in my head for MONTHS and I finally got around to actually writing it. This work is inspired by @darkwizart 's Witcher AU art. Link Below
> 
> https://darkwizart.tumblr.com/post/613410678309634048/second-and-last-of-my-dratchetparty-sketches

He narrowly dodged a swipe from his left, rolling on the ground to the right—only to roll back when another blow came down from above. While his knees stabilized on solid dirt his sword slashed the air, forcing the creature back and allowing him to find his footing. He charged then struck again with his sword. The black scaled behemoth roared its fury as it avoided his attack. It lashed out with deadly claws, trying to knock the mech to the ground but the mech was too quick and easily avoided the attacks. Sharp teeth flashed from a narrow snout as the beast hissed at the mech’s face, only to flinch back by the blade of a sword.

The mech advanced. Strike after strike, forcing the eight-legged creature to backpedal until its backside hit solid rock. Cornered, the giant screeched in anger and lunged forward to bite at the mech’s helm.

The attack was easily avoided, as well as the other attempts at the mech. Frustration sounded its next shriek. The panic and desperation were more evident as the monster became more reckless in its movements. A swipe to the mech’s left side cost it 3 claws to be sliced off, now on the floor in a pool of blood. The next bite took its tongue, resulting in a bleeding mess inside the beast’s maw.

With each slice, more blood splattered to the ground. Appendages were lost and littered the floor around the two bodies.

The mech knew that the beast was on its last legs. Half its limbs were missing, and numerous cuts strewn its heaving body as the energy from it steadily dropped with each passing moment. It was time to end the beast’s suffering.

He fixed his stance, pedes firmly planted on the ground with his sword held in front with both servos. He waited, poised at the ready for when the creature made its next strike. It did not disappoint.

The beast reared its head emitting a roar that shook the ground beneath them, jaws opened wide to devour the mech’s helm. The mech stepped forward in the exact moment the creature lunged. His sword struck true; piercing flesh and bone before exiting through the back of the creature’s skull. The shrilling screech echoed in his finials long after it ended. The behemoth spasming before ultimately stilling. Dead.

With a squelch he freed his sword, watching with a neutral expression as its body collapsed with a loud thump at his pedes. Blood spilled from the creature, staining the ground below and pooling around the mech.

The sound of cooling fans filled the air as the mech looked down upon the corpse with blazing red optics. His engine rumbled idly in a content rhythm only heard after a successful hunt. His free servo clenched and unclenched easily, stretching each of his extended claws before curling them tightly. He sighed.

“Today wasn’t your day was it.”

Cycling another vent, Drift brandished his sword above his helm before striking it down like an omen.

-x-

After delivering the decapitated head of the monster that had been terrorizing an organic city to its governor, Drift collected his coin and strode towards his ship. During his leave, the inhabitants of the city watched him with varying expressions ranging from awe to fear to disgust. Very few were in the first category.

His kind was despised across the galaxy. Witchers. Monster-hunting mutants without emotion whose sole purpose was to take down their intended target, reap the rewards, and move on. Unaligned to any nation and loyal to none. A simple life yes, but better than living in the bullshit that rules over the rest of the galaxy.

That’s what Drift keeps telling himself at least.

After leaving the planet’s orbit, he set his coordinates to his next stop: Cybertron. It had been just over 8 months since his last visit to the origin of his creation and it would have been longer if it weren’t for the injuries gained from his latest hunt.

True, he could do the repairs himself since they were far from life-threatening, but it’d save him time and energy if he got someone else to look him over. Besides, it would give him an excuse to visit a certain healer again.

Grinning, Drift inputted the last commands before initiating the launch sequence. A countdown and a warp later, he was finally back in Cybertron’s orbit. Entering one final set of coordinates, his ship moved forward, entering the planet’s atmosphere.

Cybertron looked as shitty as ever, though there were a few more bright patches peppering its surface than the last trip he made, proving that the remaining population was on the road to rebuilding their planet.

The civil war had ruined Cybertron in ways no one could imagine and nearly destroyed the planet itself if it weren’t for the truce made between the remainder of King Optimus’ and King Megatron’s forces a few centuries back. If the war had gone any longer, there probably wouldn’t have been anything left to rebuild.

Pfft. Stupid mechs. Always fighting for the impossible while sacrificing the innocent in meaningless bloodshed. Mechs trying to justify their actions by calling it ‘destiny’ or their ‘divine right,’ but in the end, they were all the same. They all met the same miserable fate one way or another.

It was one of the reasons why Drift was glad he was a Witcher. He wasn’t allowed to get involved in such meaningless squabbles.

There were a few treasures, however, still worth fighting for. And he was currently making his way to them.

When his ship was close enough, Drift activated the landing gear and picked a spot at the nearest landing post. He hovered in the air for a moment when his ship was flagged by regulation, but when they scanned his identification and credentials, he was permitted to land.

The moment Drift exited his ship, he was greeted with a strong blast of cool air which caused the torn cape around his shoulders to flow erratically behind him. The harsh bite of the wind on his face caused Drift to glare into the horizon as he tried to get a look at the world around him.

It was the winter season on Cybertron as the frigid climate and snow covering the ground proved. Mechs wore furs and other warm tarps to combat the elements as they went about their business. It was the afternoon, the period in which the most mechs and femmes were out on the streets. Pity. He never liked crowds. It was even more reason to get moving.

The city of _Lost Light_ was a unique one. Separated from the more action-oriented cities on Cybertron, _Lost Light_ contained the outcasts that were scorned from the rest of society. It was the only city that had a majority population of _non-_ mech-like Cybertronians than any other. Mutants of all species settled here after the war when many foundations banned any of these inhabitants from entering their metropolises. 

One of the reasons why Drift preferred to visit the _Lost Light_ was because it was the only city where mechs and mutants coexisted relatively peacefully.

“HEY!!”

Drift’s optics flickered to the source of the cry.

“How many times do I have to tell you? No guns! No Swords! No use of weapons of any kind, attached or unattached to your frame! NO SERVICE!!”

Drift paused, staring across the street to a bar as a small mech, a minibot, yelled at a larger mech with metallic plumes covering his frame and a pointed beak as an intake. The mutant-mech was undoubtedly drunk and swayed heavily on his tridactyl pedes as he spoke down to the minibot—which Drift realized quickly was none other than Swerve.

“C’mon now— _hic—_ mech! Fff’twas just showin’— _hic_ —off the ol’ tal— _hic—_ ons ta a couple ala’— _hic_ —gits hoowasa lookin’ a’ meh fun— _hic_ —funny ‘n was uh runnin’ thems—hic--mouths!”

Swerve was understandably not amused. “I don’t give a turborat’s ass whether they were giving you the stink eye. You break my rules, you’re out of here! TEN!!”

What could only be described as a GIANT of a mech, burst through the doors of Swerve’s establishment and approached the duo. The titan was covered in iron filaments resembling that of an organic fur pelt and carried massive paws attached to bulky limbs that could crush a mech with one squeeze. A pair of large sabers peaked through the behemoth’s upper jaw and passed his chin, the tips as sharp as daggers. The mutant stepped towards the drunk mech; a low rumbling growl escaped passed his lips in a clear warning that sent shivers down the other’s spine.

There was clearly still a shred of sense left in the mech for in the next instant he was seen bolting in the opposite direction—well, more like stumbling madly to get far away from Swerve’s bar as fast as he could.

The mismatched pair soon returned to the establishment with an air of smugness. Swerve all the while dusting his hands off as if he were the one who did all the work. Both were unaware of the Witcher studying the entire scene from the opposite end of the street.

Shaking his head, Drift continued his trek.

The outskirts of the city (his current location) housed the more…eccentric characters of the population, both mutant and non-mutant. A rowdy bunch that always brought the excitement to any given situation whether it was warranted or not. Drift had found himself taking a liking to this group, though whether it was willingly or not he wasn’t sure. Still, he couldn’t deny the past few excursions at _Swerves_ that had proven to be memorable, especially when he managed to convince Ratchet to join him. 

Who knows? He might be able to drag the healer for a few jaunts this visit as well.

If he’d managed to avoid too much attention, he might just be able to reach the healer’s facility in short order. Sticking to the shadows to attract the least attention, Drift set forth to his destination. An obscure caped figure, drifting through the streets of _Lost Light_.

-x-

Luck wasn’t on Drift’s side today as it would seem. He was stopped a few times when a couple of acquaintances recognized him and decided to chat his audio off for old times’ sake; asking about his whereabouts, his latest expeditions, what kind of foul beasts he’d slaughtered recently, if he gained any new battle scars. Fortunately, however, his current condition gave the (unwanted) shutterbugs answer enough that he had a certain destination he desperately (somewhat) needed to go to.

With promises to stop by _Swerves_ **later** to recount his ventures, Drift finally eluded the crowd and reached what he was after.

The infirmary was exactly as he remembered. A modest-sized building with sturdy silver walls and a few large plane windows that could become obscure at a single command. It stood at the heart of the city’s outskirts so it would be easily accessible to any resident that needed medical attention. Drift always stopped by during every visit, but it wasn’t the outward sightseeing he came for.

Stepping through the open entrance, Drift noted the familiar scent of sterilizing incense enveloping the entire domain. Crystalline figures and metallic flora hung in small vessels from the ceiling, shining brightly as the light from the windows hit their intricate features. Shelves containing vials of different liquids and powders adorned the walls. Candles floated above, releasing the familiar scent from earlier in wisps of smoke.

Near the entrance was Ratchet’s apprentice, First Aid, standing behind a desk where visitors were usually greeted, and medicinal remedies were stocked away. The young mech was polishing a vial when he caught sight of the Witcher entering the doorway. His visor lit up in recognition before a servo waved high in the air excitedly.

“Drift! It’s good to see you! It’s been so long!”

The swordsmech dipped his head in return greeting. “Hey Aid.” In a random burst of sudden courtesy, he added, “How’ve you been?”

“Great! Well, everything’s been as good as it can be with the usual scrapes and mishaps of course.” First Aid shrugged casually. “Nothing’s ever mellow here in the _Lost Light_ as you already know. How’ve you been? You’ve been gone for a while you know. You look like a mess. What have you—”

He answered each question tersely, managing to sound not too rude. Drift never was much of a conversationalist and his patience was already worn thin. Besides, First Aid wasn’t the one he was here for.

“Is Ratchet around? Came to see him.” He hoped he didn’t sound as annoyed as he was.

The apprentice smirked knowingly in a way only First Aid could do with a mask covering his face. He tossed his head to the second doorway covered by a curtain on the other side of the room, E.M field waving mischievously. “Ratch’s in the back with a patient but I’m sure he’d be willing to see you right after.”

Nodding his thanks, Drift strode forward but not without catching one last teasing remark from the mech.

“Don’t forget! I’m still here and can hear EVERYTHING!!”

Shaking his head and stilling his rising laughter, Drift walked through the curtain and paused, taking in the sight before him.

Berths were placed in rows on each side of the room, paired with blankets and pillows. A few seats were spatially placed, usually used by guests or by one of the healers themselves.

And there stood Ratchet, back turned to Drift and conversing with a patient on one of the berths in the center-left of the room. Well, perhaps ‘conversing’ was too weak of a word.

“Exactly what part of the _miniscule pebble_ that’s your brain module made you think that leaping across rooftops **blindfolded** was a good idea?!!”

Shouting was more like it.

A raspy voice cackled loudly, the sound echoing across the room. Sharp pincers clanked together in amusement as a large singular optic gazed down at the healer in what could only be interpreted as glee.

“Overheard someone say I couldn’t do it. So, I got mad and I did it.”

Whirl threw back his helm and laughed again. The behemoth’s entire frame shook from the action which caused Ratchet to smack him in the chassis for moving while he was doing the repairs on his arms.

The mutant leaned forward, the sharp spines adorning the back of his helm and down his spine fluttered excitedly. “And you know somethin’ else? I destroyed the bastard’s roof while I was doing it!”

The sound of Ratchet’s hand colliding with Whirl’s frame echoed as the mutant exploded in another set of giggles.

Drift watched the entire interaction silently without moving from his last location, enjoying the free entertainment play before him with nothing short of amusement. It seems nothing has changed his last visit. Good ol’ Hatchet.

He had decided to wait until Ratchet was done with his work on Whirl, but the maniac caught the gleam from one of his swords and jerked his helm to the swordsmech.

Drift’s frame tensed as the single optic glinted in a way that he did not like at all. Placing a hand on one of the hilted swords by his sides, the swordsmech waited for what the lunatic might do next.

Whirl leaned back on the wall; his repaired legs crossed lazily before him on the berth, reptilian-like tailed thumping on its surface in an absentminded manner. All the while he kept his gaze locked with Drift’s.

“Say witch, how long are these repairs gonna take? I got places to be. Mechs to fuck with. You know the whole jizz.” 

Drift bristled at the name and he was not the only one.

Ratchet’s glare was more piercing than a thousand knives. “ **Don’t** call me that if you know what’s good for you.”

Whirl was not phased in the slightest and nodded with an air of finality. “Fine. Hex it is then.”

Ratchet’s field turned ominous. “ **Whirl**.” Behind him, Drift’s grip on the sword tightened.

“What? It’s the same innit? Sorcerer? Witch? Hex? They all mean the same thing.”

Drift’s fangs bared threateningly, teeth grinding together tightly. A growl was beginning at the back of his throat.

Whirl just needed one final push. “Say, you think you can teach me a few witch spells to turn my enemies into petrorabbits so I can later do unspeakable thin—”

A snarl from the back of the room had both occupants turn towards the sound. Drift poised with sword half drawn from his holster, fangs bared and optics a deep crimson. He had taken a step towards the duo in preparation to attack but paused when their gazes landed on him.

Ratchet’s optics widened at the sight of the Witcher, field fluttering in surprise and something else Drift couldn’t quite catch. Whirl looked beyond amused and clacked his pincers together teasingly. Drift looked between the two, analyzing the situation and mentally cursed himself when he realized he’d fallen for Whirl’s trick.

He looked away, blinked a few times to revert his optics to their blue color, and sheathed his sword, forcing himself to stand down.

The one-optic mutant cackled madly. “Looks like the White Wolf has come to rescue you from the big bad Whirl ey Ratch?”

The magic caster didn’t respond immediately. For a moment, he stared at Drift not quite believing what his optics were seeing. It had been half a year after all since he’d last seen the Witcher and suddenly he was standing at the doorway ready to slaughter his patient while carrying his own set of injuries.

Not exactly how he pictured his Thursday evening to turn out.

Recovering from his initial shock, Ratchet schooled his expression to a scowl before turning away and finishing the last repairs on Nutjob.

“Great. Another idiot I have to patch up before the day ends.”

Drift grimaced. A small ounce of embarrassment bubbled up within his chassis at the fact that Ratchet saw him when he was close to losing his control. Sure, he’d seen Drift at his ugliest moments, but he still felt a bit of shame whenever the healer sees him in his _other_ state.

This wasn’t how he pictured his reunion with Ratchet to turn out at _all_.

“Tell me, Witcher,” clearly Whirl was far from done with his antics. “You take slag like that from anybody or only from the witch?”

Drift’s glare returned tenfold.

“Make another sound Whirl and I’ll reformat you into a light post and send it to your creators.” Ratchet’s tone held nothing but promise in the obvious threat.

The mutant only laughed unperturbed.

“Alright.” Ratchet’s voice snapped through the ruckus. “I’m done with you. Now get out of my sight you sorry excuse of a desk lamp.”

The behemoth was unfazed, sliding off the berth and striding languidly to the doorway, tail swishing slowly behind him. His gaze flickered to Ratchet before homing in on the swordsmech leaning against the back wall.

Drift appeared to be relaxed, but there was a subtle tension beneath the surface of his frame, waiting for the anticipated attack that would arrive as the maniac approached near.

Whirl leaned down until his optic was level with the others. “Psst. Hey Witcher.” Drift’s jaw clenched. “When you're done here how about you and me head to a bar and figure who’s the most awesome by slicing up everything we can find? Your Witcher sword versus by awesome claws cuz they’re obviously awesome-r than your dumb toothpicks—”

A wrench colliding with the back of Whirl’s helm finished the sentence for him.

“OUT!!!”

Cackling, the blue giant scampered off to the other side presumably to harass First Aid. Ratchet only reluctantly allowed it since Aid seemed to _like_ the attention from Nutjob. _Ugh_.

Without any more distractions, Ratchet turned his full attention to the lone Witcher hanging by the doorframe who also must have realized that nothing was standing between the two of them since he looked like a deer in headlights who was caught by a hunter. Ratchet stared him down. Drift did the same.

Silence had never felt so heavy than at that moment.

“Hey.”

For all the trouble Drift had gone through to finally reach this place, he suddenly had no idea what to do or say towards the healer. Thousands of words he’d wanted to say, but his mouth decides to feel like cement. Wonderful.

One good thing at least was that Ratchet appeared to be at a loss for words as well.

Well more like he was too busy studying the condition of Drift’s frame which he’d dimly remembered still bore the damages from his last hunt.

He looked for something to say, anything really, but the moment he opened his intake a snap of fingers pointing to a nearby berth stopped him. The frown that adorned the healer’s face didn’t help matters in the slightest.

“Sit.”

Knowing that crisp tone all too well, he did as commanded.

He watched as Ratchet sighed heavily before walking towards a bucket of sterilizing cleanser and washed his hands thoroughly in it. Afterward, he approached the berth and gave Drift another unreadable stare.

Staying still under the scrutiny, the swordsmech hoped that whatever Ratchet was looking for didn’t disappoint but all the healer did was frown harder before looking away.

Gentle hands fluttered over his frame, occasionally brushing against his armor and sending calm signals to his sensors. Words flowed past the healer’s lips so softly Drift could barely hear them. His voice, however, was soothing, projecting a calm resonance that allowed Drift to release the remaining tension in his frame. Fluorescence began to emerge from Ratchet’s servos, emanating powerful magic that began to heal the wounds that were long overdue for treatment.

When the last enchantment was whispered, his hands continued to glow luminously. Hovering over each injury until they were completely healed. Drift could only watch and hold still as the familiar sensation of Ratchet performing miracles over his frame with his sorcerer magic entranced him like nothing ever before. The experience never got stale and it was one of the reasons why he visits often.

But it was more than the experience, it was for the mech himself who touched his soul in ways no other being had ever done.

He shot a glance at the healer, but Ratchet’s optics were entirely focused on his work. Drift knew, however, that Ratchet was entirely aware of the gaze on him if that frown was anything to go by.

He chewed his derma, trying to think of something to break the sudden tension growing between them only for Ratchet to beat him once again.

“A year.”

Drift snapped his head up, looking at the healer in confusion.

“What?”

His frown deepened. “You disappear for almost a year and suddenly you show up looking like you threw yourself into a barrel of knives, flash your sword in my infirmary, and now you can’t even bother to say anything other than a word at a time.”

Like a wisp of smoke disappearing in a breeze, words escaped him. Well, shit.

“Ratchet I…I don’t really—”

“It wouldn’t kill you to oh I don’t know, call once in a while. A simple hello would have been nice. I know Rodimus would’ve appreciated anything coming from you since he’s your _best friend!”_

Crap. He was in for it now.

“You go dark. No one hears a word from you, and we’re left wondering if your last kill managed to _kill **you**_ instead or if you’re out there too wounded to call for help.”

“Ratchet I—”

With a _whoosh_ , those gentle hands snapped away from his frame, hiding beneath arms that crossed over the healer’s chassis. “Don’t ‘Ratchet’ me.” His optics had a coldness that had Drift wincing. There was a slight twinge in his voice as he spoke his next words that sent pangs to the Witcher’s spark. “Do you even realize how worried we were whenever you leave to do your Witcher duties and don’t say a word? How it _sucks_ to be left behind wondering if you’ll ever come back?”

Ratchet uncrossed one hand and looked down at it with a bitter scowl. “If one of these days will be the last time, I get to heal you.”

A painful twinge gripped his spark at the sight of his healer, looking so hurt that it was just… _wrong_ to watch. The fact that he caused this felt like bitter acid was pouring over him, seeping into the innermost parts of his frame.

He reached out, hesitant for a moment, before gently holding Ratchet’s hand in his own and squeezing it like a lifeline.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. The words felt heavy and sounded guttural like they were forced from the deepest depths of his intake. “I’m—really sorry.”

Drift cursed himself for making this so hard. He was a Witcher; he didn’t _do_ emotions but…

With Ratchet, even the impossible was made real.

“I don’t have an excuse. I won’t use one.” He swallowed. “But I’m sorry for making you go through that.”

His grip on the healer’s hand never slacked, holding it like something divine that he was not worthy of touching. Drift fought not to clamp down when the other sighed, frame drooping like it suddenly released an impossible weight.

After several tense moments, Drift felt a squeeze back.

“You never make life easy, do you?” Ratchet sounded as tired as he looked. His voice was rough with fatigue, but his optics held a warm glow unlike before. It reassured the speedster to see him like this.

“If I did, you’d be bored out of your mind.” He couldn’t hide the slight quirk of his lips.

Ratchet huffed in amusement, a slight smirk painting his features. “Unfortunately, you would be correct.”

This time, Drift didn’t fight the full-on grin, which only grew when the smile on Ratchet’s face blossomed further because of it. Now this, this was something worth treasuring, worth protecting against every foe in the galaxy. If only to keep that look on Ratchet’s face forever.

In the next instant, warm servos returned to hover over his frame, the bright glow returning after a few seconds.

“Now hold still. I haven’t finished your repairs yet and it’s already past closing time.”

Checking his chronometer, he found that the healer was right. “Didn’t realize it was that late.”

“Neither did I. First Aid pinged me a little while ago saying he packed up everything on the other side and locked up before he left. Even threatened to nag me all day tomorrow if I stayed up too late.” He scoffed before adding, “Again.”

Drift gave him a teasing grin. “Looks like he’s taking a little too much after you eh Ratch?”

“The kid has promise and he picks up things fairly easily. Even if I must remind him to focus now and then and steer him away from…. distractions.”

“Whirl?”

“Among other things though he is a major one. If I wasn’t bound by my oaths, I would have turned him into a nightstand already.”

The swordsmech laughed, armor ruffling with the movement. “I don’t doubt it.”

They lapsed into silence after that. Drift dimly watching the healer perform his magic over his frame, curing each wound until his plating was flawless. It was almost therapeutic.

When Ratchet finished, he checked over his frame and saw no blemishes insight, not that Drift expected any. Ratchet was a legend for a reason.

“Thanks, doc. Couldn’t have done it better myself.”

The magic caster scoffed. “I’ve only fixed the surface. My abilities can’t cure a low tank and I _know_ you haven’t fueled in the last 48 hours.”

Drift’s rumbling tank only confirmed the healer’s suspicions.

Shaking his head, Ratchet walked to a table containing a cleansing cloth and began to clean his hands. “There’s some left-over chrome-alloy pie and an extra berth along with plenty of energon back in my abode.” He looked back at the other mech. “That is if you’re willing to accompany me tonight.”

Like **hell,** Drift was going to refuse _that_.

He smirked. “After you.”

-x-

“So uh, how you been Ratch? Your looking…good…tonight?”

A chuckle sounded across the table. “You suck at small talk.”

“Hey, at least I’m trying to start a conversation for once!” Drift shoved a piece of chrome-alloy pie into his mouth, chewing around his next words. “Beshides, yew shuck too.”

Ratchet shook his head in amusement before taking a sip of his hot cup of energon. “To answer your question, Busy. There’s never a day where someone isn’t trying to disembowel themselves to prove a point and I have to be there to fix them up and tell them how big of an idiot they were for doing so.”

“Sherves ‘em right.” Drift swallowed his mouthful. “You work too hard Ratch. Should take a vacation sometime. Somewhere _nice_.”

The healer scoffed. “I leave for one day and I guarantee half of these idiots will lose their heads.” He took another sip before eating a spoonful of his own slice of pastry.

Drift hummed in thought. “Can’t Aid take over the infirmary for a few days? Didn’t you say he was quickly working his way to be your replacement?”

“Kid still needs some work but,” He paused, frowning in consideration. “it _would_ be good practice for him in the long run. Something to think about I suppose.”

The speedster studied the healer as he took another sip of his energon, following the convulsions of the other’s neckcables as they swallowed the liquid contents. Drift suddenly felt parched.

“How’s Rodimus?” He quickly asked. “Haven’t seen him once.” Which was partly his fault since Drift wasn’t actively looking for him in the first place.

“He’s in Central.” There was a waver in Ratchet’s field and a sudden gloom taking over his features, a reaction the speedster wasn’t expecting. “We’ve…got a bit of a pest problem.”

Drift’s optics snapped to the healers, his defensive systems already activating without even being aware of it. His engine rumbled to life, loud enough to be felt through the floorboards but was ignored. 

“For the past 4 months, workers from Central started vanishing when the moons are full,” Ratchet said. Before long, citizens all over the _Lost Light_ were disappearing without a trace. Law enforcement suspects that whatever is taking these people must have originated somewhere in the center of the city. Although” Ratchet’s face turned solemn. “they haven’t been able to gain any more leads or get any closer to catching the beastie, and people are getting more restless with every new missing person.”

The Witcher took in the information, mind already scouring through multiple processing trees with every second. A creature in the city kidnapping people during the night. It only slightly narrowed the list of monsters he knew of.

Then another thought hit him. “You said Roddy’s in Central.” A pang of worry struck him at the thought of his amica being within the line of danger.

“He’s been leading the case with enforcement since this shitshow began.” Ratchet confirmed before adding, “I wouldn’t worry too much about him though. Ultra Magnus has proven to be a pretty decent self-appointed bodyguard and is determined not to put the city’s leader in the direct path of the creature.”

“If the creature is attacking all parts of the city, then there’s nowhere that’s truly safe.”

Ratchet hummed. “Guess your right about that.”

Drift suddenly felt restless. His systems thrummed impatiently, feeling the need to do _something_. The _Lost Light_ was in danger from a dangerous creature. His function was to _eliminate_ dangerous creatures from existence and here he was sipping hot energon and eating pie like…like…

He looked up and realized Ratchet was staring at him with a hard expression. His lips were pulled downwards, but he didn’t appear angry, more like resigned. The healer’s field was still, but Drift could feel the layers of deep worry and concern with hints of resignation.

A ball weld up in his chassis. He knew Ratchet’s opinions of Drift throwing his life in danger but, “I need to help,” he managed out.

The frown deepened, dim blue optics flickering to the table. “You can go in the morning. Rest and regain your strength first.” His voice was firm, but weariness tinted the edges as he finished the last words.

Drift nodded, not even considering protesting and worsening Ratchet’s mood even more.

He blinked when Ratchet suddenly rose from his seat and started gathering the silverware from the table.

“It’s late. We should be turning in soon.”

By the time Drift reached out to help, Ratchet had already taken the items in his arms, leaving him looking rather silly with an arm hanging in the air as the other mech moved to dump the tableware in a large basin to wash.

The swordsmech watched him for a moment before sighing, feeling useless as the healer did all the work. Shaking his head, Drift rose from his seat and approached the other mech.

“You work too much Ratch. When are you gonna let someone else take care of you for once?”

The healer scoffed without turning to look at the other. “I don’t need someone taking care of me and I happen to like working thank you very much.”

Drift crossed his arms as he stopped just behind the healer and off to the side so he could see his face. “When’s the last time you relaxed then?”

This time the ambulance paused, shoulders sagging slightly as he considered the question. Drift could sense the heavy air of exhaustion hovering over the other as he finished cleaning the last plate. “Too long.”

The speedster’s optics lidded, taking the last few steps to be a breath away from the healer, another inch and they would touch.

“I can help you know. If you want, I could take you somewhere nice. Get you away from it all,” he murmured. “Know a couple of places across the galaxy that could treat a mech like a King.” His optics flickered to the other’s face. “Could show you a good time.”

Ratchet sighed. The light of his optics softening to a dim; field a mellow wave. His voice came out as a whisper. “Sounds lovely.”

Drift, hesitating at first, reached for his EM field with his own, coaxing gently at the edges, and was immediately rewarded for his efforts. Their fields meshed in a long wave, mixing and swirling over and over until their individualities were indiscernible.

Emotions were laid bare to the other. Exhaustion. Apprehension. Longing. Weariness. Joy. Moving back and forth between the two mechs until it was almost dizzying. No words were needed, everything was understood so easily thanks to practice and their long-shared history.

Somewhere along the way something shifted. Something changed and suddenly there was a whole new mix in their little isolated cocktail.

Desire. Lust. Yearning. Arousal. Need. Completely changing their rhythm until it was a crackling storm of unspent charge waiting to be used.

An engine revved. Fans clicked on. Who’s, neither knew.

Drift was dimly aware that one of his hands was clutching his thigh tightly, nearly denting the metal with the force of his grip. He ignored it. Too focused on Ratchet who seemed to have a bit of trouble controlling his own vents.

Fuck, did he look ravishing right now. All worked up like this like he really needed a good lay and needed one _now_. Needed someone to take care of him and show him a good time.

Oh, how Drift wanted to get his hands on him. Wanted him in every way conceivable. To be the one to completely undo him and have Ratchet do the same to him. He longed for so long, _so_ _long—_ ever since their first time—and here he was in front of him, looking like he might combust from the growing charge between them if they waited for a second longer.

_Fuck._

“If— “his voice sounded gruff, affected by the spiraling arousal racing through his systems. “If you want, I can show you a good time. Right now.”

Ratchet turned fully to stare at him, optics burning with a sheer intensity it nearly hurt to look at. His field remained intertwined with Drift’s, still funneling arousal into their connection that further reacted with the building charge between them.

There was a moment of tense silence.

A hand reached out to cup the side of Drift’s face, the warmth of it seeping into the metal beneath.

“I’d like that.” A glossa peaked through Ratchet’s lips and swept over them. “ _Very much_.”

They moved together, slowly at first but the moment their lips met, they became a flurry of limbs pushing and sliding against each other. Hands glided down armor, reaching sensitive areas and pulling the other close. Panels ground together, creating sparks between the two and escalating their growing arousals. Their lips danced in smooth, soft strokes but as the charge elevated their movements became striking.

Somehow, they managed to move into Ratchet’s chambers without separating and with a purposeful tumble, ended up in his berth.

Drift’s cape must have been thrown off sometime during their excursion since gentle fingers plucked at the wiring in the gaps between his backplates, causing bursts of pleasure in his neural net. In return, he dipped his fingers in Ratchet’s chassis and massaged the mesh underneath, earning him a glorious moan.

The air around them was sweltering. Charge crackled across their frames, sometimes expelling into the air. Cooling fans ran at a maximum.

It was hot and messy, and it was _fucking amazing_.

Drift turned them until he was staring down at Ratchet with blazing optics, taking in the sight before him and burning it into his memory. Ratchet looked just as frenzied as he with faceplates flushed and lips parted to heave gusts of air into his systems.

He ended up straddling Ratchet with hands planted on each side of the healer’s helm. Strong servos held his hips gently, allowing him full control of their movements. They gazed at each for a long moment, tension ready to snap at a single touch.

“I thought you said you were going to show me a good time.”

“I did. And I intend to keep that promise.” Drift’s words were mixed with a growl that he didn’t bother suppressing.

Ratchet smirked in challenge. “Well then, show me what you got kid.”

The speedster gazed down at Ratchet, noting the mischief coloring his features and field flickering against his teasingly. He grinned, revealing several of his fangs and ground their panels together.

“With pleasure.”

And he did.

-x-

When Drift woke, it was dawn. Light had just begun to enter through one of the windows in Ratchet’s chambers, shining a beam into the darkened room. He rose into a sitting position, quickly noting the absence of a healer in the berth and wondered just how deeply asleep he was to miss the other mech moving around. 

Getting up, he walked his way out of the room only to pause when he saw his cloak hanging off a chair by a wall with his swords sitting neatly across the seat.

For the life of him, he couldn’t remember when or how he removed _those_ without disentangling from Ratchet during their romp. The healer must have gathered his belongings and placed them on there sometime after he woke. Typical Ratchet.

After reinstalling his belongings on his frame, Drift walked to the kitchen and was immediately hit with the sweet scent of energon mixed with nitrobenzene. His mouth watered at the smell and his tank rumbled eagerly. When he looked around, he saw the healer with his back turned to him, stirring a pot of the liquid on a stove.

Ratchet wore an iron pelt over his shoulders, presumably to keep the morning chill at bay. Drift was so used to the cold he didn’t even notice the temperature was nearly freezing.

The fireplace was currently in use, allowing heat to penetrate the frigid air. The table where they had sat the night before was once again set. A piece of chrome-alloy pie sat waiting on a silver platter, the sight activating his salivary glands. Drift _loved_ Ratchet’s pies.

“You’re up early,” came the gruff greeting, catching Drift’s immediate attention.

“Was about to say the same to you.” Heh, like Ratchet was one to talk.

“I slept well enough. I hope I can say the same to you?” Drift didn’t need to see the raised brow to know that it was there.

“I did.”

Pouring the steaming energon in a pair of mugs, the healer walked towards the table and set them down before looking up at the other mech. He waved a hand down. “Sit.”

Drift didn’t need to be told twice.

The pair ate in silence. Not being the first morning where they shared a meal only to depart thereafter. It was practically routine.

It still didn’t make the separation any easier.

Their meal ended similar to the night before. Ratchet had gathered the cutlery before washing them in the basin. Drift stood behind him at a farther distance than before, checking that he had all his belongings with him.

“Before you go,” the speedster’s helm snapped up. “I have something for you.”

Drift watched as the orange mech went to a shelf, picked up a vial filled with blue liquid, and accepted it when it was handed off to him. “Take this.”

Taking a closer look, the liquid resembled energon except there was a luminous sheen to it that gave Drift the impression that it must have magical elements to it. “What is it?”

“It’s the final product of a couple of healing experiments I’ve been working on. I tested it out and I think you’ll find it pretty useful when you’re in a tough situation.” Ratchet crossed his arms looking inconspicuously pleased with his work. “Drink the whole thing and it will take effect immediately.”

The swordsmech held it like something precious in his palm, gratitude leaked through his field. “Thank you.” He subspaced the vial before turning to the healer. “I’ll do what I can at Central. Hopefully, I can help rid of this pest before it makes an even bigger mess of the city.” He gripped the sword hanging at his side in promise. “But if I’m not able to—”

Those last words were left unspoken.

This was the life of a Witcher. Forever slaying monsters until the day where a Witcher could no more. They both knew this outcome was always a possibility and had come to terms with it, but it still didn’t make it any easier to bear.

Not to Ratchet, who had pulled this mech time and time again from the jaws of death; who had healed this Witcher too many times to simply allow him to die so easily.

“You take care of yourself Drift.” His words were resolute, and his sharp gaze made absolutely no room for argument. “If I find out you were eaten by this thing, I’ll never forgive you.”

A bark of laughter escaped the speedster. “I have no intention of doing so, but I’ll try my best to come back in one piece.”

“ **Promise me** ,” Ratchet’s voice wavered, expression morphing to something vulnerable. “Promise me, you’ll come back alive.”

Drift gave a long look at Ratchet, staring into those blue optics that held such intensity it was nearly overwhelming. He wanted to give his word, he wanted to.

He stepped forward until he was standing intimately close with the healer. With a hand, he cupped the back of Ratchet’s helm and pressed their crests together. His gaze never wavered from the other’s. “I’ll be seeing you Ratch.”

He sensed Ratchet’s field lashing out in a frenzy of emotions before reeling back, face suddenly becoming blank.

Eventually, Drift pulled away, leaving the healer in the middle of the room. He walked to the entrance of the abode and opened the door before pausing. After a moment of quick thinking, he turned around.

“Hey, Ratchet!”

The healer’s undivided attention was immediate.

“Have a pie waiting for me when I get back yeah?”

Ratchet’s optics widened, face reflecting one of surprise before abruptly schooling his features into a frown. Scoffing, he turned away, hiding the tiny smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“We’ll see.”

-x-

Central was the exact embodiment of what it was named for; the very center of _Lost Light_. The center of operations for every institution was located here, including law enforcement, council officials, and other large enterprises. It was clean, refined, and where the “posher” residents lived.

Drift hated this part of the city.

Mechs here sure loved to talk and _Primus did they talk._ This part of the city was notorious for some prevalent prejudices despite the law banning it. Fights still sprung up frequently however minor. It was only one of the reasons why Drift’s instincts were always on edge in this area. If it weren’t for the fact that there was a monster terrorizing this part of the city regularly, he would have never come here in the first place.

If the creature **had** originated from this part of the city, it certainly made an impression on the locals.

People went about their business but there was tension permeating the air. Security was on higher alert in Central than in the outskirts with extra protection mechanisms in place on businesses and other local hotspots. Officers also patrolled in pairs, a mech, and a mutant each, surveilling the streets for signs of trouble.

Drift was not fond of them.

Granted he wasn’t fond of many people. Very few earned his tolerance and only a couple of mechs had earned his respect. He could count the number of people with a few digits who ranked even higher than that.

Many looks were thrown his way as he walked. Suspicion and curiosity were the most prevalent.

Witchers were rare and scant people ever had a chance of seeing one in person. Even fewer had the privilege of encountering one so notorious he had earned himself a title that was more famous than his actual name; The White Wolf.

No matter how famous, however, Witchers were still detested even on Cybertron as the fair number of loathed stares shot his direction proved. Ignoring them, Drift set off to the Central headquarters to converse with those in charge and find out what their plan was for dealing with this creature.

The building was an architectural masterpiece created by the best builders the _Lost Light_ had to offer. Made accessible to mechs and mutants of all sizes, the building was one of the most frequented in the area and the most heavily guarded place in the city.

Drift had entered this complex only a handful of times when Rodimus begged for his help in extreme emergencies. If getting Rodimus out of sticky situations he’d purposefully placed himself in counted as emergencies.

He was met by two guards from the main entrance who were probably hired only because they looked tall and imposing and not because they actually knew what they were doing.

“State your business, Witcher.”

Drift glanced at both mechs levelly, already tired of this bullshit. “Heard you were having a pest problem, so I came here to speak with your leaders and offer my assistance.”

The two guards gave each other puzzled looks before the one that had spoken to him looked at him skeptically. “Aye? And you think we’re gonna let you pass Witcher without proof that you aren’t here to make trouble?”

The swordsmech suppressed a sigh. “You’ll just have to take my word for it.”

“Well, you see that’s a problem. We don’t let just any shady lookin’ character admittance unless they got bus—”

The tip of a sword pressed over vulnerable neckcables in less than a blink of an optic, shutting up the mech before he finished.

Drift walked forward, sword still held threateningly over the mech’s throat, and never breaking optic contact. “I can either go in cleanly, or I can go in trailing your energon all over the pristine floors. The choice is yours.”

Looking understandably terrified at the knife-edge of his weapon, the guard nodded in the miniscule leeway he was allowed. When the sword was removed, the guard stepped back and elbowed his partner to the same, allowing Drift to walk through easily.

The interior was as grand as he remembered with too many rooms and floors to count and an excessive amount of mechs walking about that it was difficult to keep track of. Spotting the receptionist desk in a nearby corner to his left, he made his way to it in hopes of getting some information.

The femme sitting at the desk took notice of him as he approached, giving him a leery look before shooting him a pseudo smile. “Welcome, sir. How may I assist you today?”

“I’m here to speak with Rodimus Prime regarding the creature that has been attacking this city. Where can I find him?” Straight and to the point; his plummeting mood wouldn’t allow anything else.

The femme’s perplexed face didn’t improve matters at all. “I—I’m sorry sir, but Rodimus Prime is in a very important meeting right now with law enforcement and does no—”

“Then point me to where the meeting is,” he snarled, showing every bit of fang in his intake.

A trembling digit shot upwards. “Third floor. Second door to the left. The big golden ones. You can’t miss it!”

He stalked off already heading towards the bronze stairs. It was pretty easy to shove away any lingering guilt since there wasn’t any to begin with.

When Drift finally reached the intended destination, he forewent societal decorum and kicked the door open, startling the occupants inside the large room. Heads turned. Several gasped. A person yelped. Someone started shouting about security and demanded he leave, but was intercepted by someone yelling—

“Drift! You’re back!”

A familiar hotheaded idiot climbed _on_ the long table in the center of the room and ran across it to reach the swordsmech, ignoring the protests of an angry blue mech behind him. When he reached the edge, Rodimus opened his arms and through himself at Drift who caught him with a grunt.

“I missed you! What took you so long to come back asshole!?” The orange mech withdrew to punch him in the shoulder which Drift thought he rightly deserved.

“The usual. Monsters of all kinds trying to make a mess for the rest of the galaxy,” he smiled lazily. “Took common sense and some injuries to remind me to swing by for a visit before I completely fell apart.”

Rodimus leaned back without taking his hands off the other’s shoulders and gave him a considering look. “You don’t look beat up.” His optics flickered to Drift’s, a brow arching suspiciously. “You went to Ratchet’s first, didn’t you?”

The swordsmech gave him the benefit of looking slightly guilty. Both mechs ignored the insistent yelling from behind them.

The orange speedster rolled his optics and groaned. “You always see him first! Why can’t _I_ be the first one you go to whenever you visit? Why aren’t _I_ a priority too?” His lip stuck out in a pout like a child’s.

“You _are_ a priority, Roddy.” Drift lifted a hand to squeeze his shoulder in emphasis. “That’s why I came as soon as I heard you were here.” He smiled when Rodimus gave him a grin and did feel a little guilty as he admitted his next words, ducking his helm slightly. “That, and because I heard the _Lost Light_ was being terrorized by a creature during the full moons.”

Rodimus frowned at that and winced. “ _Yeeeeah_ …things are pretty bad over here.”

Drift gave him a reassuring smile. “That’s why I’m here to help.” Seeing Rodimus’ grin was almost blinding.

_“Rodimus Prime!”_

“I heard you the first time Magnus!” The orange mech hollered back, this time turning fully to face the rest of the room. “And it’s alright! It’s just Drift and he’s here to help!”

“I do not recall authorizing this mech— _a Witcher_ as a matter of fact clearance to attend this meeting which violates Section 142 sub b. of the—”

“I know! I know! But listen! Drift of Rodion can help us catch this monster and end all our problems!”

A cacophony of whispers erupted from the other side of the room. All of them, however, were drowned out by Ultra Magnus’ booming voice.

“You cannot expect us to trust this Witcher Rodimus.” The blue giant sneered. “Not one of his kind.”

Drift couldn’t help but bark out a laugh that Ultra Magnus was quick to home in on with a glare. He gave a harsh grin in return, showing off a bit of fang. “For someone who practically worships the law, you certainly don’t mind bending the rules if it suits your prejudice, _Ultra Magnus_.”

The larger mech growled. “How dare you—"

“Alright enough!” Rodimus was quick to intercept before a brawl could start. “Instead of wasting our time fighting, how bout we work together to solve this case instead!” This time, the orange speedster addressed all the occupants in the room which Drift realized were the council members for the entire city. “Look we’re nowhere near close to stopping this monster than we have been since this mess started. We don’t have any leads. We don’t have a clue as to what. This. Thing. IS?! AND we don’t know how to catch it.”

He gestured to the swordsmech next to him. “And lo and behold, we _finally_ have someone who knows more than a thing or two about monsters and how to **freaking** _slay_ them!”

“Rodimus we don’t know if this Witcher is even capable of—”

“Please Magnus,” Rodimus’ voice was almost pleading. “People’s lives are at stake and tonight is a full moon.” The atmosphere shifted darkly at those words. “We’re running out of time and Drift is the only one who can help us.”

Drift accepted the sudden attention from the room with cool optics, looking at each pair in return.

The blue mech, much to Drift’s surprise, actually seemed to be considering Rodimus’ words carefully. His expression was pensive, and his optics appeared conflicting. Drift decided to throw one last bone in his favor before the mech could decide.

“And because Roddy’s a friend, I’ll even charge a third of the price.” After all, free aid sounded suspicious enough already. A motive for his generosity might even win a few mechs’ favors in the end.

Ultra Magnus shot the speedster one last considering look before announcing his verdict. “Very well. We’ll use your assistance.” He shot Drift one last threatening glare. “But I will keep a close optic on you, _Witcher_.”

“Great!” Rodimus clasped his hands. “Anyone else has anything left to say before we move on with this meeting?”

No one spoke.

“Wonderful. Now,” he turned the speedster. “Let’s fill you in on the situation.”

-x-

After the little briefing, Rodimus took him to a level below the surface. With Ultra Magnus’ insistence that he accompany them, both mechs bracketed Drift as they led him down the stairway to the sequestered floor.

The entire space was dark with only a few torches lighting the walkways. It resembled more of a labyrinth than an actual floor, with many twisted thresholds and hidden rooms without doors. Drift wondered briefly if anyone else knew this place even existed beneath Headquarters.

“The only possible lead we have is that a witness saw what might have been the creature enter the Science Division Building during the night of the full moons,” Rodimus informed him during their trek. “The only reason why I didn’t tell you this earlier is because one of the co-heads of the division happens to be a council member and we didn’t want to tip him off that he’s a possible suspect and is under investigation by Magnus and I.”

“ _Ultra_ Magnus and _me.”_

“Geez Magnus! Time and place!”

“Why don’t you tell me where we are and where exactly we’re going Rodimus?” Drift did **not** want to be stuck in another squabble between these two and was half tempted to shove them in one of these rooms and tell them to fuck it out of their systems.

“Right. Let me ask you this Drift.” Rodimus made a left before stopping them just in front of a corridor where there were small caverns embedded within the walls on each side. He gestured Drift onwards. “I’ll give you 200 shanix if you can tell me what exactly killed these people.”

The swordsmech glanced at Rodimus before walking down the corridor. As he glanced left to right, he realized this was not a simple walkway. It was a catacomb.

Bodies laid half-buried in acrylic powder inside open tombs were set in rows spanning the entire space before him. Each corpse had a gray face frozen in terror, a marker of their last thoughts and moments before death. It would have sent a chill down anyone’s spine. Drift, however, saw a pattern.

There was only a single injury in each corpse; the chassis had a gaping hole in the center of it, the very spark and spark casing missing within. Some indentations led him to believe that instead of the creature clawing its way in, the spark was **forced** out from the **inside**.

He made his discoveries known to the two mechs watching him.

“Only one creature I know is that picky an eater,” he told them. “A sparkeater.”

“Sparkeaters are an old hag’s tale.”

“They’re very rare.” The more he studied the bodies, the more his suspicions were confirmed. “The only way to make one is through a curse.”

“What curse would create such a monster? And why would anyone do such a thing in the first place?” Magnus questioned.

Drift ignored him, picking up a scent from the corpses that wasn’t part of the decomposition process or from the other scents in the room. It was earthy, a mixture of a carbon-based form and other halogens. He saved the scent to memory.

Finally, he turned to the two other mechs in the room, expression solemn. “How about we pay a visit to your head of the Science Division and get some answers for ourselves.”

He turned back to one of the corpses, suddenly recognizing this mech from the outskirts. He remembered frequently seeing this mech during his visits to _Swerves._ The thought that this body came from a location so close to where Ratchet lived unsettled him more than he anticipated.

-x-

“Ah, Rodimus Prime! Commander Ultra Magnus! What a pleasant surprise!”

A blue seeker with a yellow mask greeted them from behind his workstation crowded with different beakers and flasks containing various substances. A boiling cauldron was laid in front of the mech and he appeared to be pouring various liquids into the…. whatever bubbling concoction he appeared to be making.

The trio wisely stayed a fair distance away in case there was an accident.

“Yeah hey Brainstorm. I’m sure you noticed my friend here, Dr—”

“Drift of Rodion. The White Wolf. Yup, I remember.” The seeker waved a hand in the air rapidly. “Nice to meet you. Brainstorm. City’s Genius. Unrivaled except by my lovely conjux and lab partner.” The mech sighed dreamily before frowning (or what Drift considered to be frown since he never could tell with mechs with facemasks). “—who isn’t here right now. How can I help you, folks?”

“We’d like to ask you a few questions if you don’t mind,” Magnus informed. “It’s imperative that you answer honestly and clearly to the best of your ability.”

Brainstorm stopped his work and looked at the mechs dubiously. “Am I under arrest?”

“No no. We just like to gather some information about the missing person cases. You are not obligated to answer any question you are uncomfortable with and we will move on from there. Is that acceptable?”

After a brief hesitation, Brainstorm agreed.

While he was being interviewed, Drift decided to search the rest of the room—err lab. There was nothing out of the ordinary. Just a scientist with various experiments that looked harmless and had an apparent fixation on a certain mech with an optic patch that Drift assumed to be his conjux. He noticed some scriptures, however, written on paper that caught his immediate attention. They were written in Primal Vernacular, a dead language very few mechs even knew.

“Don’t touch that!” came the shout from behind him when he made a move to pick up a sheet. “Those are Percy’s notes and he hates it when people mess with his stuff.”

Perhaps it was a little more than a fixation then. Drift moved to walk away but then he caught a whiff of something from the papers. It was Lindane. A chemical containing the carbon-rich benzene and hexachloride.

“Where were you during the attacks on the full moons?”

“In my lab working on my experiments.”

It was the same scent contaminating the bodies of the victims.

“Did you know any of the victims? Had any interaction with them before or after their disappearance?”

“None whatsoever.”

Drift studied the scriptures again, reading the contents on them.

“You said Perceptor was away. Where is he now?”

“He’s participating in an ongoing research expedition in Praxas. I would have gone with him, but there were a few experiments I wanted to finish up here.”

“How long has he been gone?”

“A few months or so.”

He read them again and realized something else about the papers: there wasn’t a single ounce of dust on any of them.

“Alrighty then. Thanks for your cooperation Brainstorm. We’ll just be on our—”

“How is your relationship with your conjux?”

All heads turned towards the Witcher at the opposite end of the room, each looking very much confused at his sudden interruption. Drift’s back was turned to them, still gazing down at the papers on the work desk.

Brainstorm tilted his head a bit perplexed and shifted his optics between the other two mechs before responding. “I’d say we’re going strong. We have a few arguments here and there but no full-blown fights of any sort.”

“Drift?”

The swordsmech ignored Rodimus for the moment and pressed on. “Do you perform sorcery of any sort?”

Brainstorm’s wings fluttered briefly but answered, nonetheless. “I’ve dabbled in a bit of spell casting, but my focus is primarily on scientific research.”

Drift hummed before turning to face the seeker head-on. “You said your conjux doesn’t like people touching his work.”

“I did. Perceptor would throw a fit otherwise.”

“You ever touch his things?”

The seeker’s wings jerked harshly upwards. “Of course not! I told you, Percy would throw a fit!”

Drift was silent for a moment, pensive. “I believe you. Except for one wrinkle though.” His optics hardened. Slowly, he stalked towards the scientist watching the other mech squirm as he approached closer and closer until Drift was standing so close that the seeker couldn’t break away from his gaze.

“Your scent is on his papers.”

Brainstorm’s optics widened.

“Old ones and new ones.”

“I—I have no idea what you’re talking about—”

“Drift what’s going on?”

“This is entirely against—"

He ignored them all, baring his fangs at the twitching seeker. “And I found your scent on the victims’ bodies.”

The entire room froze.

He couldn’t seem them, but Drift knew Rodimus and Ultra Magnus were shocked at the implication. Brainstorm’s field flared in panic before hurrying to compose himself. “I-I—don’t know what—you don’t have any—I mean I _never_ came into contact with—”

With each passing second under the intense sneer, Brainstorm’s guarded walls fell apart. It didn’t take long for the scientist to finally break.

“It was an accident!”

The menacing growl further rattled the mech, words spewing over trembling lips and voice cracking at the edges. “I didn’t mean to curse Perceptor! Really I didn’t!” He stared pleadingly into cold blue optics. “We found an old book of spells from one of our digs and decided to do some experimenting. We had no idea how the spells would work out since it was all in Primal Vernacular. Perceptor tried to warn me to be careful but I wouldn’t listen!”

Coolant welled from his optics. “I wouldn’t _listen_! So, I kept going, I kept performing spells until I came across one that…that was _unusual_. I didn’t know what it would do, and I got curious and it…it…it turned Percy into a Sparkeater!”

“You cursed your own conjux!?” Rodimus exclaimed, face aghast.

“It was an _accident_! I didn’t mean to do that to Perceptor and if I’d known what that spell would do, I would’ve _never_ cast it!” His servos dug furrows into the desk behind him, still pinned between it and the Witcher in front of him. “Look. I know I made a huge mistake and I should have told someone but…I was afraid—"

“You purposefully endangered the entire city and caused the deaths of numerous mechs by your ‘huge mistake.’” Ultra Magnus’ booming voice cut in. “By remaining _silent_ you’ve unnecessarily prolonged the situation, further escalating the danger over the people which is punishable by—”

“Alright, I get it. I messed up, but I didn’t want to tell anyone what happened because I didn’t want to harm Percy!” Brainstorm’s wet optics scrunched in worry. “I know he’s still in there. Somewhere. I’ve been trying to use different spells to reverse the curse but none of them worked. I even tried collecting samples from the victims to see if I can create a decoy to lure Percy away from everyone else but that didn’t work either. I tried everything I could, but nothing ever worked!!”

“So that’s why your scent was on the bodies.” Drift’s optics narrowed.

Brainstorm shakily nodded.

The swordsmech sighed before easing himself away from the cornered scientist, finally giving him space to move but his glare on the mech remained.

“So that’s it?”

All optics turned to the orange speedster. “We found out what this creature is. We found out who’s responsible for making this thing and turning our lives into a living nightmare, but we still don’t know how to get rid of it?! This is just another dead end!” Rodimus groaned. “We got all this information yet we’re still not even close to solving this case. Primus damn it, why is this so freaking hard!”

The orange mech released a frustrated sigh before burying his face in a palm. Drift shot him a sympathetic look but knew it wouldn’t do any good. Rodimus may feel dejected but _he_ wasn’t done yet.

He turned to the seeker. “Where are you hiding him?”

Brainstorm gave him a cautious look. “If you want me to tell you, you have to promise me that you won’t kill him.”

“ _What_?!”

“I mean it!” he shouted, looking at the two other mechs in the room who stared back agape. “I won’t let you kill Percy. Punish me all you want, but I won’t let Perceptor suffer for **my** mistakes!” He turned to the Witcher. “Please. Promise me you’ll save him, and I’ll tell you where to find him.”

Drift understood Brainstorm’s position. A mech willing to sacrifice everything to save his lover. It was a story so generic that Drift had trouble feeling moved by his conviction. It wasn’t new and it never varied. He had seen this familiar scene play out so many times that Drift couldn’t keep the truth from him.

“I can’t promise you that.” He watched unflinchingly as Brainstorm’s expression fell. “The likelihood of killing Perceptor and saving him is a flip of a coin. But,” his gaze hardened. “if you tell me where to locate him, I will do my best to end his suffering **tonight** whether it is at my blade or by the spell’s breaking.”

Brainstorm shuttered his optics and was quiet for a long moment. He looked at the Witcher and nodded.

-x-

“Soooooo, _this_ is where you’re holding up the sparkeater?”

“I had to remove him from my lab since someone saw him climb up the side of the building about a month ago. Figured this would be the next best place to keep him hidden from everyone else.”

“Oh sure, because keeping the monster hidden is more important than stopping it from eating people.”

“I’d prefer it if you don’t call him ‘monster’ and/or ‘creature’ and refer to him as my conjux please and thank you.”

“I’ll show you who’s a monster you piece of shi—”

“Can we **please** focus.”

Drift wondered how Ultra Magnus managed not to blow a fuse with these two idiots arguing each other the entire trip here.

‘Here’ was an abandoned building half-buried in snow in the land of limbo between the border of Central and the outskirts of _Lost Light._ It somehow managed to survive the impact of the civil war and was somehow overlooked by one of law enforcement’s numerous searches for the creature. It was old and decomposing from the inside out with only three of its floors remaining. The afternoon light struck through the open cracks of the ancient edifice, allowing for a peek into the various objects still left inside it, just as rotten as the building itself. 

Despite the poor appearance, however, it did seem like a suitable place to store a sparkeater.

“Alright!” Rodimus clasped his hands together loudly. “Where exactly are you keeping the old ball and chain locked up huh? In balls and chains?”

He was the only one who found the joke amusing.

“ _Perceptor_ is safely kept in a storage container in the top floor _away_ from prying optics.”

“You’re keeping him in a storage container?” Rodimus was completely oblivious to the glare shot his way. “Wouldn’t he, you know, get out?”

“If it isn’t a night of full moons, Percy remains in stasis inside his container. After he…sates his appetite for the night, he returns to his box on his own before the sun rises.”

Drift paused, taking in the information.

“What was the curse that you found in the book?” he turned to face the cuffed seeker.

Brainstorm hummed in thought for a moment, digits tapping each other within their restraints. “It had this weird requirement that I prepare a mixer of rotten leaves and crude oil from a mine. Then I had to recite this silly chant when the moons were full then submerge myself into the mix until sunrise.”

Behind the seeker, Rodimus and Ultra Magnus gave each other disbelieving looks. Drift stared at the scientist, mind already racing with the new information. “What was the chant?”

“It was in Primal Vernacular. I think I remember most of it.” Brainstorm struggled briefly before reciting the spell.

Drift’s frame stilled. Then in the next moment, curses flew from his lips so harshly the others jumped from the outburst.

“W-Why? What is it?”

The swordsmech paced, gripping his swords tightly as mutters laced with swears escaped him. This wasn’t good. This wasn’t good at all.

“Drift what’s wrong?”

He continued pacing, mind already forming scenarios and contingency plans for what he had to do. This battle would be one of the toughest ones he ever had to face.

A hand touching his shoulder stopped him and he turned to look at a very concerned Rodimus. He chewed his lip for a moment before speaking.

“The only way to cure the sparkeater is if I keep it away from its container long enough for dawn to arrive without killing it.”

Rodimus’ optics widened in realization. “Wait you mean you have to fight this thing all night?”

He nodded.

“No. No-no-no. You’re not going in there and taking on that creature by yourself. I’m coming with you.”

“Rodimus you’re not coming with me. It’s too dangerous.”

“And you think going by yourself makes it any less dangerous? Together we can take on this monster!” He exclaimed.

“That’s my conjux excuse y—”

“Roddy. I can’t fight this thing if I’m busy worrying about you getting hurt in the process.”

“I agree with Drift.”

Both speedsters turned to the hulking blue mech next to them. Rodimus’ optics widened in surprise. “Magnus?”

Clearing his intake, Ultra Magnus looked to his leader. “You are too valuable to the city Rodimus Prime. I agree with—” he struggled with his next work, nearly choking them out of his intake. “the _Witcher_. I believe a professional monster hunter should complete this task alone than have you become injured during the fray.”

While he was still stunned, Drift laid a hand on the orange mech’s shoulder, grabbing his attention. “Hey. Have some faith in me. I’ve been doing this for longer than you were sparked. I can handle this,” he reassured, even though he still had doubts about the possible outcome.

He gave Rodimus the biggest reassuring smile he could muster, and it only took a few seconds before the speedster caved. “Okay fine!” He gave Drift a meaningful glare. “But you better kick some monster ass got it?”

The swordsmech couldn’t help but laugh. “I had every intention of doing so.”

“And you better be careful too!”

Drift squashed the instinct to roll his optics. “Yes, Roddy.”

“And promise me that you’ll come back alive.”

 _What was with mechs and promises?_ Everyone wanted to tie him down for some reason or another and it was getting _annoying_.

But as much as he didn’t want to admit it, however, Drift recognized the look on Rodimus’ face all too well. It wasn’t that long ago after all—this morning—where a mech had begged him for the impossible, pleaded him with the same vulnerable expression for something Drift wanted to give but couldn’t. His spark lurched in his chassis.

He placed a hand on Rodimus shoulder and smiled drearily. “Stay out of trouble Roddy.” Giving one last squeeze, Drift withdrew calmly despite the look Rodimus was giving him. He would be fine, and he knew others like Ultra Magnus wouldn’t allow otherwise.

If only that were enough to quell the guilt gnawing inside him.

-x-

Night had fallen over the city a few hours later. Darkness reigned in the winter sky while snow softly fell to the ground below. During the remaining hours of light, a temporary lockdown was enforced from dusk to dawn. No one was permitted on the streets unless it was to seek immediate medical aid. A skeleton crew of law enforcement patrolled the streets, upholding the new restrictions.

Only a Witcher remained standing in front of an abandoned building that housed a monster; a mech cursed to live life by halves, only to appear at night with nothing but a ravenous hunger that could not be sated.

Drift had fought creatures of many teeth and claw over the centuries and tonight would test his prowess as a Witcher. He would see the morning sunlight a triumphant hunter or a dead mech. Either way, he was not coming out of this ordeal in one piece.

His thoughts drifted to Rodimus, who must be torqued out of his mind to be sitting behind a desk for the remainder of the night guarded by a vigilant and dull Ultra Magnus. A snort escaped him. Perhaps tonight would be the perfect opportunity to confront the other about their not-so-secret attraction for each other. Drift was a little sorry he would be missing it.

His briefly thought of Brainstorm, who was probably worried sick inside his cell thinking about the battle between him and his conjux; if either of them would survive the night and see morning.

Finally, he thought about Ratchet. His wonderful Ratchet, who was at home, probably irked because he could not work at the infirmary, and beyond worried. Worried about the city and about the people who might need aid but could not reach him. Worried about Drift.

His spark spun in its casing. What would Ratchet think if Drift died tonight? What would he do? How would he react? Would he grieve? Or would he be relieved?

He thought of his last night with Ratchet, how wonderfully glorious it had been. To be alone with Ratchet again. To see his beautiful smile. To see him come undone and lost in ecstasy; that moment was permanently engraved into his memory. To simply be with Ratchet was worth everything he could possibly imagine. To see him happy forever was something worth protecting.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of engines roaring in the sky. His helm snapped towards the sound and gripped the sword by the right side of his hip as he watched a jet dive towards the ground behind him before transforming mid-air and landing. A familiar mech greeted him with a wave.

Drift raised a brow, slowly relaxing his stance. “I thought you were being held in a cell.”

Brainstorm looked at him with crinkled optics in what could only be interpreted as a smile. “Ah, those cribs are for sparklings. I’m a genius remember?”

Drift’s only response was a noncommittal grunt.

The seeker walked forward until he was standing beside the Witcher, gaze locked straight ahead at the building. Snow pelted from above, landing on their armor and gathering in clumps.

Drift considered questioning the mech if he was here to intervene with his mission but the other spoke before he could.

“Will this work? Answer honestly.”

It didn’t take Drift long to know what he meant. He sighed. “I don’t know.”

The blue and gold mech was silent for a moment. “Will Perceptor be normal again?”

He too followed Brainstorm’s example. “He’ll need special care. For the past 4 months, he’s lived like an animal. All he’s ever been familiar with are rage and hunger.” He spared a glance at the mech.

Coolant collected in the seeker’s optics. “You know, I’d do anything for Percy. He’s the only mech who truly understood me.” He swallowed heavily, lowering his head. “I love him with every fiber of my being, and I’d do anything to have him back.”

 **_Promise me_ ** _. Promise me you’ll come back alive._

Drift’s spark squeezed painfully. Cycled a vent, he looked to the sky. “It’s almost time. You should get away from here.”

Nodding, Brainstorm took a step backward and then another before turning away. He crouched, then jumped, transforming into a jet in midair and soaring off.

Drift walked forwards, pausing just before crossing the entryway. He cycled one last vent, steeling himself, then entered.

It was dark with only a few beams of moonlight shining through the windows and the gaps on the partially destroyed walls of the first level. It was just a large space that served as a single room. A couple of dust lidded furniture remained; old and broken like the rest of the building. He spotted a staircase and began to climb it.

The second floor was emptier than the first. Just a sheet-covered sofa and a rocker laid in the center of the room. An old chandelier hung from the ceiling. He wondered for a moment if this place had been a home once before continuing his ascent.

The third floor was where he found his target; on a berth, inside a metal box, surrounded by chains and locks. No one would have able to remove the restraints even with a powerful weapon on hand.

Drift stood in front of the berth a few paces away. He removed his cloak, knowing it would only be a hindrance, and placed a hand on each sword by his hips testing the grip of each hilt. He shuttered his optics, focusing all the energy within his frame to spread and settle inside him. Armor thickened, claws peeked from his fingertips, teeth grew more pronounced and sharper than they already were. He onlined his optics, now blood crimson and glowing intensely.

He unsheathed his swords, spreading his arms out and low to the side, and crouched. Ready.

Outside, Cybertron’s moons rose high in the sky, shining at their fullest.

A scream pierced the tense silence, ringing throughout the quiet night.

The container shook on the berth. Shrill scrapes sounded from within as if talons clawed at the surfaces of the walls. Chains snapped one by one until there was nothing left. The lid flew open. Spiny tentacles with forked tips sprang forth, squirming and undulating in the air. The creature raised from its chamber, mouth a dark cavern filled with knife-like teeth and optics a sickly amber. Its gaze found Drift’s and screamed.

In an instant, the sparkeater was in the air launching towards Drift, talons raised and outstretched ready to maim. He sidestepped, swinging his weapons when spiny tendrils reached for him. The creature pounced again. This time, he used his swords and momentum to maneuver it to the other end of the room, placing a greater distance between them.

The pair circled each other. The sparkeater hissed, saliva dripping from its mangled jaws while the Witcher bared his fangs in challenge. Tentacles launched forward and Drift batted them away, but one managed to slice the side of his left thigh. He ignored the pain. The creature flung itself, tackling the swordsmech to the ground. Drift grunted when his back impacted the floor and grappled with the creature when it pinned his swords. He managed to free one arm and swung forward, but the thing slapped it away, sending his sword skidding across the floor.

It leaned forward and roared directly at his face, treating him with an unwanted view of the chasm of teeth. With his legs, he kicked at the creature’s stomach. It screeched in pain. He kicked again. The creature grabbed his shoulders and threw him to the other side of the room with a strength Drift did not expect.

His back collided with the wall hard, knocking the wind out of him. The room shook from the impact. He barely had time to get his arms under him before he felt tentacles wrap around his frame, lifting him in the air and flinging him to the opposite wall.

His CPU rebooted quickly, awareness coming to him in a flash. He heard a screech from his left and turned to see the sparkeater making a beeline towards him. With a surge of raw energy and magic, he shot a blast at the creature, hurling it to the other end of the room. It landed with a loud thump.

He gripped his sword and stood; optics locked on the beast. He strode forward and as it righted itself, he threw a punch at the creature’s face and it shrieked then threw another. The beast swiped at him with its immense claws but missed. Tentacles swarmed him, forcing him back. He fought them off, slicing a few in the process, but not without gaining several more gashes on his frame. Each wound stung, but it was nothing he wasn’t used to.

The sparkeater ran towards him and lashed out with a claw. He sidestepped it, turning and using his momentum to bring down his sword. The creature caught his arms and rushed him. His back hit the wall but before he could fight back, he was slammed again. His sword slipped from his hands and clattered to the ground. He felt himself being lifted off his pedes, sharp talons digging into his frame and tearing through metal and wiring, causing him to hiss in pain. Errors popped up in his CPU; he angrily swiped them aside.

His legs were pinned by the creature’s frame as it leaned forward and screeched at him. Bringing his arms up, he grabbed its face in his claws and _squeezed_. It worked. With a squeal, the sparkeater threw him aside and he landed on the floor hard.

It took him far longer to get his bearings together. By the time Drift rebooted his optics, his body was pinned by the creature above him, horrid face mere inches from his own. It reared its head, opening its mouth wide and making a gasping sound. Suddenly, he felt a sharp pang within his chassis like his spark was being pulled from its casing. He kicked at the creature’s stomach, but tentacles wrapped around his legs and kept them still. The pull intensified.

He roared, knowing well what this meant. The images of the victims’ bodies flashed in his mind, and he knew that he had seconds before he would become the same.

Summoning what remaining energy he had in his frame, he focused his magic for a single attack. He raised his servo and struck the floor beneath him. He felt the support collapse immediately. He and the sparkeater tumbled down and crash on the floor below in a heap of rock and bodies. The impact hurt and earned him even more dents and scratches.

But the creature was still conscious and began to crawl over his frame again.

Growling, he thumped his head back and summoned another pulse before hitting the floor again. The structure collapsed beneath them.

Drift didn’t know how long he blacked out for but when he finally came to, he was half-buried in rubble. He groaned, pulling himself from the debris. After managing to stabilize on his pedes without falling over, he looked at the carnage around him.

What remained of the previous floors was now scattered around him, nothing but rocks and dust filled the dark open space. Next to him, was the sparkeater, optics dark and chassis rising and falling with every vent.

He looked around some more and spotted the container lying a few paces away. It appeared to still be intact which was a good sign. He turned back to the unconscious sparkeater and wondered for how long it would remain that way.

He checked the available exits and walked towards each of them, casting an invisible barrier to prevent anything from entering or exiting through them.

Drift sagged, suddenly feeling 10x as heavier than normal. Leaning against a wall, he looked down at his frame and noted that it was covered with dents and gashes that steadily dripped energon.

“Fuck.” This would be hell to fix.

He turned back to the open space and his spark froze. The creature was nowhere to be found.

Drift took a step forward. Then another. His optics scanned the entire room, instincts on high alert. His steps were delicate, purposefully silent.

Something scraped behind him.

He turned quickly in time to see the sparkeater launch itself from the wall and towards him. They tumbled to the ground. He didn’t react fast enough as it grabbed him and threw him across the floor.

Errors popped up in his HUD, none of them good. He felt claws grip him by the shoulders and he was airborne once again.

His energy reserves were depleted by the minute, but if he collapsed, he was done for. Using his last resort, he unsheathed his Great Sword and staggered to his pedes. The creature ran towards him and he slashed in quick strokes. The sparkeater flinched and backed away. Drift advanced, managing to summon enough power for his sword to crackle with energy.

His next strike took off several of its tentacles. The next landed a wound on the creature’s leg. It evaded his next attack and rushed him. He toppled from the force, vision swimming. The sparkeater shrieked above him, raising a claw to strike.

Sunlight seeped into the building, illuminating the darkened room.

Both turned towards the light. Drift’s fuel pump skipped. The creature above him paused before looking towards its container. He caught its gaze. With a screech, the sparkeater leaped off him and dashed towards the metallic box. Grunting, Drift bolted after it.

It was a close race, but Drift was faster. Just as they neared the compartment, Drift slammed his body against the creature’s sending it tumbling across the room. He gathered one last magical pulse and laid a hand on the container, permanently sealing it shut.

Something colliding into him and he crashed onto the floor in a painful heap. Heaving, he turned himself in time to watch as the creature pounded and clawed at the box in a futile attempt to open it; its animalistic squeals echoing in the room. Suddenly, the cries took on a new volume. Its body began to crackle and pop, limbs twisting, tentacles trembling. The creature plummeted to the ground.

Drift watched, transfixed at the transformation in front of him. It looked painful. The sparkeater howled and writhed, a black gooey mass erupted from its body. Tentacles shriveled into nothing. Teeth retreated and flattened inside its mouth. Yellow optics flickered erratically. The change lasted no more than half a minute, but it felt like ages.

Finally, the cries ceased.

Drift rose from the floor, hissing as his wounds were aggravated by the action. He took a shaky step forward, then another, ignoring the energon dripping down his frame and slowly making his way to the form lying on the ground. As he approached, he noted tendrils of smoke expelling from the body. He wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or not. Coming close enough, he crouched and sat on a knee, taking a good look at the transformed form.

The mech was turned away from him on his side, still covered in the inky substance from earlier but had no trace of tentacles or spikes. Beneath the substance, Drift could spot red plating and what appeared to be a microscope attached to one shoulder. The faint sound of working vents told him enough that the mech was still alive.

Cycling a vent, Drift placed a hand on of the mech’s shoulder and turned him until he was flat on his back. A groan escaped past parted lips.

“Perceptor.”

The mech didn’t stir.

“Perceptor.” Drift called out again. This time, he shook one of his shoulders. “ **Perceptor**.”

Blue optics flickered online. Lips parting in a gasp.

Then Perceptor _screamed._

Claws lashed out, slicing valuable lines and embedding themselves in Drift’s throat before he even had time to react. His optics widened and a hand shot up to press against those cables. Perceptor yelled again and kicked away from him, crawling on all fours to place a greater distance between them.

Drift could only gurgle in shock as he tried to place pressure on the lines spurting precious energon, but he already knew that this wound was fatal. He had no time to fix himself or find help and had lost too much energon. He was done.

Collapsing on his back, he continued putting pressure on his neck despite how futile it was. His movements became sluggish; body slowly shutting down. His mind however raced.

Drift knew this was the end, a _fitting_ end for a Witcher, but he couldn’t help but curse himself for dying so easily. The White Wolf sacrificing his life for saving a sparkeater. He couldn’t help but feel a little bitter despite it all. Deep down, he didn’t want to die, not yet at least. Not when Rodimus counted on him and looked up to him as a mentor. Depended on him as a friend.

Not when Ratchet was waiting for him to return, alive and whole. Not when he wanted to tell Ratchet how much he loved him before he went.

_Ratchet…_

Drift’s optics widened. _The vial._

Hissing, Drift fought against his own body’s response to lay still and reached into his subspace. He blindly grabbed for what he was looking for and retrieved the vial, popping the cork open with his teeth and spitting it out.

He didn’t know what the blue liquid tasted like. He didn’t have a chance to contemplate it since immediately after, darkness enveloped his consciousness.

-x-

_Warm hands brushed over his frame, soft in their touch and gentle in their nature. They soothed all the aches and pains, both physical and mental. They were the only hands that had true control over him._

_Colors danced over him. Blue. Red. Yellow. Sometimes mixing, creating new colors that swirled and flowed. Different shades of light highlighted each color, creating a shower of wonder._

_He felt light like he was floating. Yet at the same time, he felt every draw of a vent, the rush of energon in his lines, every sensor in his plating. He never felt more centered than at that moment._

_Then, he felt something—someone touching him. He recognized this touch. Recognized the brush of soft lips on his face, the glide of a frame against his own, the touch of skilled hands expertly sliding over his plating._

_It was overwhelming as much as it was invigorating. He never felt more alive than he was then._

_He saw a form move above him, a mech. It was difficult for him to focus but through the haze, he saw familiar blue optics gazing down at him adoringly. An amorous smile painting familiar faceplates. He knew this mech. He dreamt about him for as long as he could remember._

_“Drift.”_

_A gentle hand caressed his cheek._

_Ratchet…_

_“Drift. Come back.”_

_Ratchet…_

_“Come back to me Drift.”_

_Ratchet…_

_Ratchet…._

Drift’s optics came online with a start, awareness hitting him like a jolt. His first instinct was to tense; defend himself against an unknown enemy but the moment he did, however, pain erupted in his sensor net. A groan escaped him, teeth-gritting in response to the sudden flare.

“Oh! You’re awake!”

Onlining his optics—he wasn’t aware he offlined them—Drift turned to look at a turquoise femme. She had yellow optics with three crests on her helm that pointed backward; the middle one longer than the rest. She gave him a cheerful smile as she made her way towards him from behind a large table.

“Drift of Rodion is it? My name is Velocity.” She stopped just at the end of the berth by his pedes. “I’m a sorceress and I’ve been treating your wounds while you were unconscious.”

Drift did not know this femme. He did not trust her. His frame remained tensed, automatically at the defensive as he looked around and took in his surroundings.

It appeared to be an infirmary of some sort. More expansive and…dull compared to Ratchet’s. With Ratchet’s there was more activity, more livelihood within his backward clinic. Perhaps it was due to his familiarity and bias, but the white walls and dry atmosphere of this establishment were just plain unnerving.

He turned to the femme with suspicious optics. “Where am I?”

“You’re at Central’s Medical Facility. After your battle with the sparkeater, you were brought here by the Prime and another seeker. You were badly injured” Her optics flickered to the side, hesitating for a moment. “Actually, with the number of injuries on your person, I’m surprised you're still alive. Either Primus really favors you or your will to live is unbreakable.” A shaky laugh escaped her. “Perhaps both.”

Drift disagreed. His kind were tough, but they were not immortal. He **should** have died, yes, but it wasn’t Primus’ will or dumb luck that saved him. He remembered the blue vial and knew it was responsible for his fortune, knew Ratchet had saved his life once again.

A sudden urge to escape and run to the healer sprang within his chassis, and before he knew it, he was lifting himself on his elbows, despite the pain caused by the action.

“Oh! You shouldn’t move yet! Your wounds are still—"

Her words fell on deaf ears. Drift managed to sit upright with a grunt forced through his teeth, fans running at a maximum to cool his overworked frame. He moved to swing his legs over the berth but froze by the femme’s next words.

“Rodimus Prime is on his way to see you!!”

Roddy. Drift sighed. Of course, he’d want to see him. After a moment of serious contemplating, he’d relented to the femme’s coaxing and remained put, much to her immense relief.

It wasn’t long until the doors from the infirmary burst open and an orange blur zipped inside. Pausing to look at the berth bound swordsmech, Rodimus grinned before launching himself. Drift caught him with a groan and a wince as his repairs strained.

“Drift! You’re finally awake!” The arms around his neck tightened. “You had me worried sick you Big Jerk!”

The orange speedster continued to spout on about how worried he was and how he thought Drift would never wake up and that he was lucky he was injured because Rodimus would punch him for being so reckless and so on. Drift merely patted Rodimus on the backplates and hummed noncommittally as he listened to the mech vent over his shoulder, knowing that he needed to get it out of his system before he physically combusts. He deserved this after all.

Sometime during the ranting Velocity made herself scarce, giving the two some privacy which Drift was secretly thankful for.

When he finished, Rodimus pulled away and wiped a few coolant tears from his optics, a frown pulling at his derma. “You know, I don’t know what was worse: you disappearing for 8 months or almost dying in one night.”

Drift’s spark squeezed in his chest, guilt coloring his field. “Sorry, Roddy. I didn’t mean to put you through that.” He struggled over his next words, not knowing how to articulate them to express his true meaning. After mentally berating himself after a few moments, he sighed in frustration. “I…I wish I…had…something better to say to you.” He grimaced before looking up at the speedster. “I’m sorry Roddy.”

What he failed to express in words, he conveyed through his field. Guilt, repentance, sorrow; begging his friend forgiveness for his shortcomings.

Rodimus looked at him, optics still overly bright. Then the corners of intake pulled upwards, his field reaching for Drift’s, pulsing contently. “Try not to get in any more battles with sparkeaters any time soon and I’ll forgive you.”

Drift matched his smile with one of his own. “Deal.”

He couldn’t help but feel a little sense of déjà vu. It wasn’t that long ago where someone important to him scolded him for being reckless. Perhaps it was a sign. A sign to appreciate those he valued most. Well, luckily for him it didn’t look like he’d be able to leave any time soon, allowing him plenty of opportunities to do just that.

Leaning back on his hands, he gave Rodimus an inquiring look. “So, tell me what’s happened while I was out.”

Plopping his behind on the berth alongside Drift, Rodimus responded with an excited flutter to his field. “Well for starters, after we got you and Perceptor out of that raggedy building—by the way, holy shit you totally recked that place into smithereens—and made sure both of you were stabilized, Magnus and me—”

“Magnus and I.”

“—made an announcement the next morning that ‘The Witcher, Drift of Rodion, has defeated the sparkeater and saved the city!’ And people went absolutely wild! There was a **huge** celebration afterward which a lot of people are _still_ recovering from and there’s gonna be _another_ celebration when you wo—”

“Wait. How long was I out?”

“Oh, about 3 days.”

“3 days?!”

“Yeah. Why?” Rodimus tilted his head in confusion.

Drift was silent for a long moment, fists clenched tightly by his sides. “I…didn’t expect it to be that long.”

“That long?? Lotty didn’t expect you to wake up for another _month_!”

He winced. “That bad?”

Rodimus gave him a solemn look. “You were pretty fucked up. For a second I thought you weren’t gonna make it.”

Drift paused, letting his words sink in before sighing. “Ratchet saved me.”

“Ratchet?”

“Yeah,” he looked at the speedster. “He gave me this potion and I drank it before passing out. It must have kept me alive long enough to get help.”

“Hm. Somehow I’m not surprised.” He rolled his optics. “That’s Ratchet for you. His magic-sorcery-healing stuff’s legit.”

“Heh,” Drift couldn’t fight the crooked smile growing on his features. “You’re right about that.”

Rodimus quirked a brow at the swordsmech, leaning forward to stare at him with narrowed optics. “ ** _So_** ,” a wicked grin stretched across his faceplates. “When’s the bonding ceremony?”

Drift shuttered his optics, rubbing his forehead with a palm and releasing a long sigh. “Rodimus.”

The idiot had the gall to laugh. “Oh, come on, you know I’m joking Mr. ‘We’re both bonded to our jobs’!” Rodimus laughed again at the insufferable look the swordsmech gave him. “Look just hear me out—”

“No. Be shoosh.”

“ALL I want to say is, you two are made for each other and deserve to be happy. Listen,” He grabbed one of Drift’s hands and squeezed, grabbing the mech’s attention immediately. The intense look Rodimus was giving him spoke volumes. “Life’s more than money and monsters you know. You deserve this piece of joy in your life, so make it worth your while.” He leaned back, smiling brightly. “And if you don’t, then I’ll kick your ass so hard these injuries will seem like nothing.”

A chuckle escaped Drift, knowing too well that Rodimus would make through with his threat. He thought over his words and knew they rang true. “Perhaps your right.”

“I know I’m right.”

“Shut up.”

“You shut up.”

-x-

It was late. The moons had risen hours ago and most of the city had turned in for the night as the frigid temperature dropped below freezing. Snow, white and heavy, cascaded from the sky, soundlessly settling on rooftops and the ground below. Lamp posts provided whatever light available across the city in speckles of gold.

Drift stood in front of the dwelling, reminiscing the last time he had visited. This dwelling brought sweet memories as much as bitter ones. Many of his treasured moments had taken place in this house. It was close to a haven than any place he’s ever been to.

Approaching Ratchet’s home, he noticed light coming from within. Unable to help himself, Drift peaked through a crack of a curtain from one of the windows. His optics brightened when he caught sight of the healer hunched over a table with his head cushioned on his crossed arms, optics dark. It appeared that he was resting but wasn’t relaxed enough to be in recharge. The fireplace worked behind him, lighting the room in an ethereal glow.

A baked chrome-alloy pie lay next to him. Drift smiled at the sight.

He knocked on the door and watched as blue light returned to those optics, flickering for a moment before focusing. He knocked again, this time Ratchet snapped his head towards the sound and immediately rose from his seat.

When the door opened, their optics locked, and the world seemed to melt away.

“Hi.”

Drift ignored the snow pelting over him; didn’t even feel the cold, not when after a moment of stillness, Ratchet pulled him inside without a word and warmth immediately seeped into his frame. It wasn’t warmth from the fireplace or the room, but from Ratchet’s hand in his own, the weight of it in his palm was both comforting and soothing. Drift allowed himself to be dragged near the hearth where Ratchet instantly began to look over his frame for any impurities.

“Ratch I’m fine.”

“Be shoosh.” Was the dismissive retort.

He chuckled as the healer patted him down and manhandled him into various turns so he could look at the swordsmech at all angles, not leaving a single cranny unchecked. It was excessive, yes, but it was Ratchet and Drift wouldn’t have him any other way. After finally passing inspection and facing the other once again, the healer gave him a long considering look. He returned it with one of his own.

Neither spoke for a long moment, simply gazing into each other’s optics as if words could be transmitted through a look alone.

“You kept your promise.” Ratchet’s voice was soft, barely above a murmur.

The corners of Drift’s lips tugged upwards. “I did.” His hands found the other’s and grasped each other tightly.

Their fields intertwined; a multitude of emotions suddenly laid bare to the other, flowing easily between them. Drift could feel Ratchet’s worry, relief, and joy; all towards him. He knew Ratchet must have driven himself up the walls while he was away and he wanted to dissuade all of that, wanted to reassure him that he was here, whole, and alive as promised.

After all, a promise made must be honored.

He raised a hand and cupped the healer’s cheek, smirking. “Told you I’d be seeing you.”

Ratchet’s expression softened, shoulders sagging as if a huge weight had been lifted. “You did.” His optics glimmered under the light, a full smile blossoming his features. “Welcome home.”

They moved together as one, rejoicing in their reunion in the best ways they knew how. They kissed long and sweet, taking time to bask in the other’s presence after narrowly avoiding what could have been the end. Within seconds they were thoroughly intertwined, similar to several nights prior. Moving together with expert practice.

They broke away for just a moment, vents working, and gazed into each other’s optics. “Let’s take this to the bedroom, shall we?” Ratchet’s voice was low with a husky undertone that sent tingles down Drift’s spine. He smirked. “After you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are appreciated!


End file.
